Good For the Soul
by mam711
Summary: Neal is behaving uncharacteristically.  Peter wants to know why.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** I've reposted this to correct Diana's last name and to fix some typos. This is my first fiction in about 10 years, my first White Collar fiction, and my longest fiction ever. Thanks to those who've reviewed, and of course I'd appreciate more.

* * *

The suspect was moving through the crowds of elegantly dressed and bejeweled opera patrons, homing in on the most expensive necklace in the room. Neal Caffrey also moved through the crowd, keeping an eagle eye on the suspect, and on the necklace, which was around the neck of Agent Diana Berrigan. She was stunning in a deep blue designer gown, laughing and flirting with the very eligible man on her arm.

The suspect, Robert Simms, was several years younger than Neal, about the age Neal had been when Peter had first apprehended him. He was extremely attractive, in a blond Ivy-League sort of way, and he had used his looks and his charm as his entree to high society. Few of his victims suspected him; they liked him too much.

"He really reminds me of Neal," said Agent Peter Burke, not for the first time on this case.

His MO, the FBI had determined, was to take the jewelry, hide it in the catering equipment somewhere, then retrieve it from the catering van after the event. There was always general chaos around a catering van during cleanup (Elizabeth Burke had confirmed this), and it was easy for a thief dressed as a caterer to retrieve something and get away clean. The FBI decided to catch Simms before this, because it would be too easy for him to claim that he'd just found the necklace and was about to report it. And in one other case (in LA), a caterer had found a ring and reported it, which is how Neal had figured out how he was doing it.

Agent Peter Burke was in the surveillance van, monitoring his team at the Metropolitan Opera opening night reception and benefit. He and his team had been working on the string of jewel thefts for several weeks, and their primary suspect had just slipped an exquisite diamond and sapphire necklace from around Diana's neck- her cover story was that she was the new girlfriend of a prominent Manhattan bachelor; a popular society blog had extensively covered their budding romance, their meeting due to mutual love of the opera, and his expensive gifts to her (the blogger had owed Moz a favor). The very rich man had agreed to work with the FBI at the urging of his mother, the victim of one of the suspect's previous heists. The necklace was, intentionally, by far the most expensive piece of jewelry at the event.

Neal Caffrey's assignment was to prevent Simms from having an opportunity to cache the loot, and get him to a quiet alcove. Neal looked quite elegant in a tuxedo, holding a champagne flute. He made an uncharacteristically clumsy move, spilling champagne over Simms, then insisted on helping him clean up; club soda was urgently needed to prevent ruining the tuxedo; there was a quieter bar over here in this alcove.

Neal had managed to expertly maneuver the suspect into the quiet alcove without raising his guard. This had been part of the plan in order to guarantee the safety of the other attendees, and minimize the embarrassment to the organization which was hosting the event. While Simms had never hurt anyone in the past that they knew of, he'd also never gotten caught before, so they didn't know how he'd react.

"There's the signal. Everyone move in."

Neal and Simms were surrounded by undercover FBI agents who recovered the necklace from Simms' pocket, catching the thief red-handed.

Peter came into the room, and read the prisoner his rights. As he was taken away in handcuffs, Peter turned toward his consultant. "Good work, Neal. There's another asshole that's getting what he deserves."

Neal gave Peter a sharp look. Peter gave him a look of confusion. "What? ..."

Neal shook his head. "It's nothing, Peter. Thank you. I'll see you tomorrow."

Peter watched Neal as he walked over to Jones, who had a new tracking anklet for him. His look of confusion continued.

* * *

Peter and Neal were in Peter's office, discussing the current case. It was an art heist from a museum, and they'd yet to figure out how the thief had managed to get a rather large painting out of the museum undetected.

Neal paused for a moment, and Peter could see that an idea had occurred to him.

"Maybe it's something like the technique I used when I stole the Pizarro."

Peter looked at him in shock. "You stole the Pizarro? We didn't even suspect you of that one!"

Neal gave a sardonic little smile. "Yes, I was pretty sure that you hadn't. Anyway, here's how I did it." He went on to give an entertaining description of the truly-innovative technique he'd used.

* * *

Peter and Elizabeth were sitting at the dinner table, which was beautifully set. The food was giving off appetizing aromas; Satchmo sat between them looking hopeful.

Peter wasn't eating. He was just staring off into space, and hadn't even noticed that El had asked him a question.

She took his hand to get his attention, and asked a new question. "Is this about Neal?"

"Is what about Neal? I didn't mention Neal."

"Peter, you came in the door claiming that you were starving, but now you've only taken two bites in two minutes. I know the food is delicious, and it's one of your favorites, so it's not that. You're either thinking about a case, or about Neal, and judging from the look on your face, I'm guessing it's Neal."

"It's Neal." Peter sighed. "He s been behaving ... differently for about a month now."

"Eat something. Differently how?"

Peter thought as he chewed. "The first thing I noticed was after that opera thing about a month ago. We'd cut Neal's anklet for that one."

El snorted. "Yeah, I guess red or green lights wouldn't go very well with a tuxedo."

Peter laughed. "Ruins the line, too. Anyway, every time we've gone to replace his anklet, he's tried to come up with some delaying tactic. Every time. One time he left completely. Given all the activity that night, he could easily have gotten away with that again. But this time, he went directly to Jones and immediately had it replaced."

El considered. "Maybe he's finally bowed to the inevitable."

It was Peter's turn to snort. "Neal?" He took another bite. It really was delicious; Satchmo was out of luck tonight.

"So you said that was the first thing you noticed. What else?"

"He used to complain about everything. Now I don t think I've heard him complain ... since that same night. I've even done stuff to deliberately provoke him."

"Like what?"

"Yesterday, I kept reminding him that I can send him back to prison."

"Peter! That's just mean!"

"El, he knows I don't mean it. Usually he says something like 'Do it and I won't tell you how I just broke the current case.' But this time, he'd get this look like he'd come up with a really good rejoinder, then he'd get a look like he'd thought better of it, and said nothing."

El was beginning to look alarmed, too. "You're right, that really doesn't sound like Neal. Could he be sick?"

Peter shook his head. "I really don't think so. He's still got all that patented Neal Caffrey energy and charm. He's the best researcher I've ever seen, never gets bored, barely even takes breaks. He correlates seemingly-unrelated pieces of information faster than anyone. It'll look like he's going off on an irrelevant tangent, but 90% of the time it'll turn out to be relevant. And he often will tell the most entertaining stories, and have the whole bullpen in stitches."

El laughed. "Yes, that sounds like Neal, and it doesn't sound like he's sick."

Peter smiled. "Of course, the stories are always liberally sprinkled with 'hypothetically' and 'allegedly'."

"Of course."

Peter suddenly sat up. "Until today!" He stood up and started pacing. "Today, we were talking about the current case, and he started talking about a theft we didn't even suspect him for. Not a single 'hypothetically' or 'allegedly'. He flat out confessed to a crime for which he can be prosecuted. He's never done anything like that before."

"Has the statute of limitations expired?"

"No, it was only a few months before we caught him. In fact, he did it while we were already heavily surveilling him. And I didn't have a clue, El."

"So could he just have been having fun tweaking the great FBI agent, and just forgot to say 'allegedly'? And sit back down, Peter; you know Satchmo thinks he's getting the leftovers when you get up."

Peter sat; Satchmo whined. "It didn't feel at all like tweaking; it felt like he had useful information to contribute to the case. And that man never, ever forgets anything, or lets anything slip that he doesn't want to slip. No, it was a confession, and he knows he can be prosecuted."

"I guess he really does trust you." Then El looked confused. "But why do you say he can be prosecuted? Doesn't he have immunity?"

Peter shook his head. "It really wasn't an option, under the circumstances. He'd just earned four more years for escaping, and he'd never confessed to anything. It wasn't necessary for our arrangement. So we never offered it to him."

"He's confessed now, to one thing anyway. Maybe it's time."

Peter considered. "We could close a lot of open cases, and I'm sure we'd learn a lot. Maybe it is time."

Elizabeth thought about the whole conversation as Peter finally got back to his food. After a few moments, she said, "OK, so I'm getting that the gist of the reason you're worried about Neal is that he isn't as annoying any more."

"YES!" He kissed her. "He hasn't been at all annoying! And I don t know why!" At this point, Peter looked very annoyed.


	2. Chapter 2

Peter was alone in his office when Neal approached the next morning.

"Neal. Come in and sit down. Oh, and close the door."

Neal raised an eyebrow at that, and complied. "So anything new in the case, Peter?"

"I'll get to that later. I have something serious to discuss with you first. Let me preface this by saying that no one else knows we're having this discussion."

"Wow. This definitely sounds serious. Am I in trouble?" Neal's smile was just on the edge of annoying, without crossing over.

"Neal, yesterday you did something in this office that you'd never done before."

"Yes. I confessed." He said it matter-of-factly. "I was wondering if you'd noticed."

Peter was a little taken aback. "Of course I noticed! Neal, I could have you prosecuted for that. You know full well that you don't have immunity."

"Peter, I trust you to do the right thing with the information. You always do."

Peter looked exasperatedly at Neal, and shook his head a few times. "Neal, do you want immunity? Wait, don't answer that yet. I need to inform you of the conditions first. Also, I haven't discussed this with Hughes yet, and don't know if he'll agree. But I'm pretty sure he will; we should be able to close a lot of case files."

"More than you know."

"OK, the conditions. There are basically only two things that can derail this type of immunity proceeding. The first is murder. This includes the Felony Murder Rule. You are aware of the Felony Murder Rule, I assume."

"Yes, Peter. It dates back to English Common Law. If anyone is killed during the commission of a felony, then everyone involved in committing that felony has committed murder. The rules vary in different jurisdictions. In New York, if the perps go in unarmed and without intent to harm, then it's second degree murder. In a lot of other states, that'd be capital murder."

"Yes, exactly. You do know a lot about a lot. It still surprises me sometimes. OK, that shouldn't be an issue; you're as non-violent as they come. The other thing that can void the agreement is perjury. Any lie, any half-truth, any omission, and we can prosecute you for everything. In your case, we're talking about your entire career."

Neal thought about it. "What if I make a good-faith effort to tell you everything, but accidentally leave something out? There really is a lot." He smiled. "Allegedly."

Peter laughed. "We've done this before. We create a timeline. We can usually pinpoint the date of the actual crime, and you can tell us how long it took to plan. The gaps should help jog your memory. Also, we'll go through the open-cases files, and bring anything to you that we think you might have done. It usually works pretty well."

Neal considered some more. "Would you be conducting the interviews?"

"If that's what you want, then yes. Look, you have no obligation to do this. You still have your Fifth Amendment rights. Your decision one way or the other won't affect our arrangement, and I wouldn't go poking around in your past trying to figure out why you said no. No one but you or I know about this. Oh, and Elizabeth."

Neal smiled. "Of course Elizabeth. Can I give you an answer tomorrow?"

"Sure. Now about the current case..."

* * *

First thing the next morning, Neal went up to Peter. "Yes, set it up ... please.

Peter grinned.

* * *

They were using one of the FBI's standard interrogation rooms: two-way mirror, video and sound recording equipment, a steel table with a rod along one edge, so that the perp could be handcuffed to the table. Neal sat at that side of the table, dead center, facing the mirror and the camera.

Peter sat on the other side of the table, off center, so as to not block the camera.

"OK, let's get started. Please state your name for the record."

"Neal Caffrey."

"You're giving this statement voluntarily?"

"Yes."

"You understand the conditions that can void the immunity agreement."

"Murder and perjury, yes."

"OK, let's get past that first one then. Neal, were you ever involved in a felony where someone died?"

Neal paused, and took a deep breath.

Peter could see the answer in his face. "Oh, crap. No. No, no, no."

"Yes, Peter."

* * *

Peter left the room. He stood in the hallway, face in his hands, trying to pull himself back together. Finally, he went back into the room and just stood there, not able to look Neal in the eye, not able to figure out what to do next.

Neal helped him. "Peter, if I were a total stranger that had just confessed murder, what would you do?"

Peter still couldn't look at him. His voice, when it came, was a whisper. "I'd read you your rights, and handcuff you to the table."

"Do it, then. Please, Peter."

The familiarity of the routine brought Peter back to himself, a little. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you. Do you understand these rights as they have been read to you?"

Neal smiled, since Peter hadn't actually read them. "I understand my rights. I waive my right to remain silent, and I waive my right to an attorney." He waited. "The handcuffs?"

Peter reached around before he even realized what he was doing, then stopped. "No."

"Yes. Everything by the book. I won't even try to take them off, and you know that I can."

Peter got the handcuffs out, and came around the table, then just stood there holding them. Neal took them from his hands and handcuffed himself to the table.

"Peter, please sit down now." Once he had, Neal continued. "If it helps, I'll just start talking."

Peter nodded.

"I was 20 years old, and it was my third job - a small art museum. I had an accomplice a couple of years older than me, and just as inexperienced. His name was Sean O'Malley. We both agreed there'd be no guns, and that no one would get hurt."

Peter frowned. "So Sean lied to you, and brought a gun?"

Neal shook his head. "No. We both went in unarmed."

Peter thought about it. "So a death would be second-degree murder."

Neal nodded. "Yes, in New York. But this was California. Capital murder."

Peter gasped. "Neal!"

Neal smiled. "Relax, Peter. I'm not suicidal. It's the one thing I had to research before agreeing to this. No one who's confessed and pleaded guilty in a Felony Murder Rule case has ever faced the death penalty. Ever. The worst I can get is life without parole. In any case, I'm in federal custody, and you guys can be pretty territorial." He paused. "Shall I continue?"

Peter nodded.

"We thought we were so smart. We'd found all the blind spots in the security cameras, timed the guard's movements, and could get in and out in under three minutes without triggering any alarms. We'd rehearsed it over and over again."

"So what went wrong?" Peter asked.

"It wasn't the usual guard. I found out later that he'd had a family emergency. The guard on duty that night was a little younger, and a lot faster making his rounds. He saw Sean, yelled 'Freeze', and pulled his gun. I was near the wall with the arch he was coming through, so he couldn't see me. As he came into the gallery, I knocked the gun out of his hands and yelled 'Run!' to Sean. And I ran. A couple of seconds later, I heard a shot, turned and saw Sean with the gun in his hand, and the guard on the ground, bleeding." Neal took a deep breath. "Eufemio Rivera. 32 years old. Wife Marta. Kids Rafael and Sofia."

There was a long pause before Peter spoke.

"And you were never caught."

"No, I got away clean. Sean got away too, but it messed him up. He committed suicide by cop in an armed bank robbery a few weeks later."

"And there is nothing that could connect you to this?"

"No." Neal paused. "No, that's not completely true. There are connections that could be made, but they're of the sort that law enforcement would never look for. And there's been a lot of obfuscation involved. Anyway, that part's all strictly legal, so I'm not required to talk about it."

"Then why, Neal? Why have you done this? I gave you a clear warning. You could have just told me no."

Neal leaned back, as far as was possible with the handcuffs on. "Remember the Simms case six weeks ago? The opera benefit? The whole time we were working that case, you kept saying two things over and over."

"God, that guy reminded me of you." Peter smiled and shook his head.

"Yes, that was one of them. The other... You didn't always use the same words, in fact you were quite colorful at times, but there was a consistent theme. You considered him an asshole. Every time you said something like that, I'd get angry, and I couldn't explain it. Until you said it that last time, just after we'd arrested him. And that time, I just suddenly got it. All of it. Everything you'd been trying to tell me about my life and my options and my choices. Euclid posited 'Things that equal the same thing also equal one another.' You saw me and him as being like each other. He was an asshole. Therefore I was an asshole. Q.E.D."

"Neal, I never meant it like that."

"Why not, Peter? I'd never regretted anything I'd done, except for Eufemio. I'd never earned anything honestly. Even when I was given this opportunity, this gift, I kept looking for ways to push the boundaries. Or even violate the agreement outright. For example, after that kidnapping, when I walked away without the anklet. I knew exactly what I was doing. So did you, actually. You called me on it, of course. You said everything I needed to hear, and I didn't hear any of it. My ego and pride and entitlement and wounded dignity and all that other crap were in the way.

"Until that moment. After Simms. You saw it happen; I could tell."

"I had no idea what I'd just seen. It confused the hell out of me."

"You always were too perceptive for my own good, Peter. In any case, I was having the opposite experience. I had a moment of perfect clarity, and in that moment, I knew that I had to earn this gift you'd given me, that I had to be grateful, and honest, and become worthy of your trust."

"So that explains your complete personality change this past month and a half. It was driving me nuts."

"I really should have discussed it with you. But I wanted to show you first. And my ego and pride and other crap were still somewhat in the way. So you got worried, discussed me with Elizabeth, and immunity came up."

Peter looked indignant. "How did you ...? I guess that perceptiveness thing goes both ways with us."

Neal laughed. "Not this time. You told me she knew you were discussing it with me, and I guessed at the context."

Peter smiled, then got serious again. "You could have said no. I gave you the option. There would have been no repercussions."

Neal sighed. "For me, no. You'd given me your word of honor that you wouldn't dig around in my past. And you wouldn't have. And even if you had, there was nothing you could have found. But it would have eaten away at you. Admit it, it was already bugging you that I hadn't said yes immediately. I watched you the rest of the day, and you kept looking at me funny."

Peter said ruefully, "Yes, it got to me. But I would have gotten over it."

Neal shook his head. "Not really. It wasn't the kind of thing you could ever really forget. And your honor would have had you jumping through hoops trying to make sure that your relationship with me hadn't changed, when it had, irrevocably."

"So you said yes. And here we are."

"Yes. Here we are."

"And where is that, Neal? The immunity deal is blown; you don't have to continue."

"Yes, yes I do, Peter. It's all coming out now. Now we get to do the part that you were eager to do."

"You're right; I was looking forward to this."

"Me too, actually. So let's pretend that perjury is still on the table, and do the timelines and open-case review." Neal smiled. "We're going to be here awhile, and I don't think I'll be headed back to June's any time soon." He rattled the handcuffs. "You've got some arrangements to make."

Peter looked dejected as the implications of the morning sank in again. "You're right." He thought a moment. "The penitentiary is too far away for you to be going back and forth every day. I think you're going to have to stay in one of the holding cells downstairs. They're not very comfortable..."

Neal laughed. "Peter, the last thing I deserve is for you to worry about my comfort. It'll be fine. And you won't be hearing any complaints from me."

Peter shook his head. "That was the weirdest part of the last six weeks. I missed the complaining!" They both laughed.

"I'll go talk to Hughes." Peter turned to go make the arrangements. Neal stopped him.

"Peter, now that perjury is off the table, I do have one request I'd like to make."

"What is it?"

"I'd like to not have to implicate Moz or Alex. It was the one thing ... the other thing I was really dreading."

"Neal, you don't have to do this at all any more."

"Yes, I do."

Peter sighed. "I'll run that by Hughes, too."

"Since immunity is off the table, does it really need to be his decision? It's your permission I want."

Peter looked startled. "You're right. I guess it could be my decision." He thought about it a moment. "OK. Just make it crystal clear when you're using aliases. And we won't jump to any conclusions as to who you're referring to."

"Thank you, Peter."


	3. Chapter 3

There were very few people in the Federal courtroom of Judge Margaret Sangel when Neal was escorted in by the U.S. Marshals who had transported him from the penitentiary. It was just Peter, Hughes, a U.S. Attorney, a bailiff, and June, to his surprise. Neal smiled and waved at her and Peter, as best he could.

He was wearing an orange jumpsuit, and waited patiently by the defendant's table as the shackles on his hands and feet were removed. Neal thanked the Marshals.

Hughes turned to Peter. "I thought you brought a suit for him."

"I did. I'm told he refused to wear it."

"Shh. The judge..."

Everyone stood as Judge Sangel took the bench. "Everyone please sit. This is the sentencing hearing for Neal Caffrey, and given the unusual aspects of this case, I'm going to take a few short-cuts, if no one has any objections."

The room was silent.

The judge continued. "Normally, all the charges for which you were convicted would be read. That would take a long time in this case, so I'm just going to mention one. First degree murder. That all by itself justifies a sentence of life without possibility of parole. Add everything else, and it's the only possible outcome."

Somehow, the silence in the room had grown.

"Normally, that is. But there's not a whole lot about this case that's normal. I've had six weeks to review all the documentation in this case. It was barely enough time, given the volume of material. The videotaped confession by itself ran how long, Ms. Levin?"

The US Attorney consulted her notes. "Ninety seven hours, your honor."

"Ninety seven hours. Detail upon detail. Every security flaw which was exploited. Every security flaw which could have been exploited. How you took a waiter's job at a high-end caterer, in order to study how the wealthy patrons dressed and acted, and what they were interested in. All sorts of forgers' trade secrets. Law enforcement and criminologists are going to learn a great deal from this confession.

"Ninety seven hours. I expected it to be interminable, but it was remarkably entertaining. But that is neither here nor there, and has no bearing on my decision.

"In addition to all the documentation provided by the prosecution, I considered several other additional sources of information. Victims' statements always play a large part in my sentencing decisions. For the most part, Mr. Caffrey's victims were wealthy and heavily insured, and the impact was minimal. There was one exception. The family of your murder victim, Eufemio Rivera."

Neal bowed his head.

"I chose to be the one to inform Marta Rivera of the circumstances of her husband's death, and that there was now a confession to his murder. Ms. Rivera and her children suffered great emotional pain and loss, Mr. Caffrey. Ms. Rivera never remarried, and she still misses her husband every day. The children barely remember their father."

There were tears in Neal's eyes.

"Surprisingly, however, given that Ms. Rivera is a poorly-educated immigrant woman, the family has prospered financially. Approximately two years after Mr. Rivera's death, Ms. Rivera started receiving regular checks from an annuity policy that she knew nothing about. Over the years, the checks have grown significantly, which is not normal for an annuity. Also, the insurance company does not exist.

"When the children reached college age, they each received full-ride scholarships from a small foundation. While the foundation does exist, in its entire existence, all it has done is fund scholarships for two students.

"My investigators have not been able to trace back any information about who is behind the annuity and the scholarships. Apparently, there's been some expert obfuscation. Mr. Caffrey, did you do this?"

Neal's head was still bowed. "It can't replace..."

The judge interrupted him. "Mr. Caffrey! It was a yes/no question."

Startled, he looked her in the eyes. "Yes, your honor."

The judge nodded. "Very well. I apprised Ms. Rivera of some of your history, and especially about your time at the FBI, and your confession. Ms. Rivera and her children have approved the sentence I will be imposing."

The judge continued. "Contrary to popular belief, a judge's responsibility in imposing sentences is not purely to punish the offender. A judge also is required to take into consideration the best interests of society.

"Even in Eufemio Rivera's murder, your intent was non-violent, and you have never again been involved in any incidence of violence. I have affidavit after affidavit from psychologists and law enforcement officials that unanimously state that you present no physical danger to society."

Peter and Hughes were both nodding their agreement.

"I also solicited statements from every FBI agent with whom you have worked, and not just from those that volunteered. While it was apparent that there are several that don't like you, they all praised your work ethic, your resourcefulness and creativity, and considered you an asset to the unit.

"In order to evaluate objectively your value to the FBI, I requested and received statistics about case closure rates in White Collar units in the ten largest metropolitan areas in the US. In the three years before you became a consultant to the New York unit, their case closure rates were quite respectable, on the high end of the rates for the comparable cities.

"In the sixteen months that you were a consultant, the case closure rates skyrocketed. A 93% closure rate is unprecedented.

"Mr. Caffrey, you were most definitely a valuable asset to the FBI, and they assure me that they want you back. So you're going back."

Peter and Neal looked at each other, elated.

"Now, in your confession, you admitted to taking liberties with your previous agreement, so I'm imposing additional restrictions, for at least a year. First, you are restricted to the FBI building, and may not venture further than fifty feet from an outside door unless you have your handler's approval, and it is necessary for a case. You have access to all unrestricted parts of the building, including the roof and gym. You'll sleep in the holding cell you occupied during your confession. It will not be locked, and you're free to come and go from the cell at will. You may see visitors in a lobby conference room, and these visits will not be monitored.

"Do you understand these restrictions?" She looked at him with raised eyebrows.

"Yes, your honor."

"Second, unless you have your handler's approval, and it is necessary for a case, you'll wear the prison uniform." Again, she raised her eyebrows.

"Yes, your honor."

"It's interesting that you anticipated me there. In a year's time, and every year thereafter, I'll hold a hearing to reconsider the restrictions."

"As for how many years that will be. My understanding is that an FBI Professional Staff member is generally eligible for full retirement at age 62. So that's how long you'll work for the FBI.

"Normally, if you were in prison, at that point, you'd be up for parole. The thing that is given the most weight at a parole hearing is clear evidence of remorse. I've heard a lot of insincere statements of remorse over the years, from prisoners trying to manipulate their way to freedom. In this case, your confession contained the most sincere statement of remorse I'd ever heard, and it came from a man volunteering to be locked up for the rest of his life." She shook her head ruefully.

"So no parole hearing is required. On your 62nd birthday, you are free.

"So ordered." She banged her gavel. But she wasn't quite done yet.

"A few more formalities. Mr. Hughes, you brought the anklet?"

Hughes nodded, and retrieved a GPS tracking anklet from his briefcase.

Peter hissed at him, quietly, "You knew, and didn't tell me!"

Hughes handed the anklet to Neal, who attached it to his leg, smiling broadly.

Judge Sangel turned to the US Marshals. "Mr. Caffrey is hereby remanded into the custody of the FBI. You are free to go. Thank you."

She then turned to Peter. "Agent Burke, I trust you can give Mr. Caffrey a ride to the FBI building."

"Gladly, your honor." Peter's smile was as broad as Neal's.

The judge turned to leave the room, and to hide her own smile, when Neal's voice rang out, "Wait!"

"Yes, Mr. Caffrey?"

Neal pointed to the anklet. "It's not working. The light's not on."

Judge Sangel looked at Hughes, who looked at Peter.

"New ones need to be activated. I need to make a phone call."

Judge Sangel nodded. "Then make it. We'll wait." She turned to Neal. "Continue on the course you've started, and those restrictions will be lifted in no time."

When the anklet LED came on seconds later, she again turned to leave, then paused. "Juney, I think you'll have your boarder back by this time next year."

"I can't wait, Mags."

Peter and Neal looked at each other in surprise.

* * *

An attractive woman in her late 20s waited in one of the upstairs conference rooms at the FBI's White Collar unit offices.

Peter came into the room. "Jennifer Kaplan? I'm Agent Peter Burke. Sorry to keep you waiting. My associate will be joining us shortly; he's due in at 9:00." Peter smiled. "He's got a really short commute, so I'm sure he'll be on time."

Sure enough, Neal was just making his way through the glass entrance doors. He was instantly surrounded by most of the staff, all of them welcoming him back heartily.

Peter addressed Ms. Kaplan again. "Let's give him a minute. He's been away, and this is his first day back."

Jennifer looked confused as the man in the ill-fitting orange jumpsuit with a conspicuous tracking anklet made his way toward them.

"Good morning, Peter!" Neal was grinning like a fool.

"Good morning, Neal!" Peter was also grinning like a fool. "Jennifer Kaplan, Neal Caffrey."

Neal shook her hand as she asked, "Are you undercover?"

"No. I'm a prisoner in the custody of the FBI, and this outfit is court-ordered."

They were both still grinning. Hughes stuck his head out of his office. "Knock it off, the two of you." But his words didn't have a whole lot of impact, since he was grinning like a fool, too. "Welcome back, Neal."

"Thank you, sir."

Hughes ducked back into his office.

Neal took a deep breath. "OK, we're both adults, and we have a job to do. And I'm afraid we've both made a very bad, and very misleading, first impression on Ms. Kaplan. I apologize for the silliness." The smiles were still there, but they were moderating to more professionally-appropriate levels.

Peter added, "I apologize, too. Yes, Neal is in my custody. And he's also a highly valued and most trusted member of my team."

Neal's smile turned into pure joy. "Thank you, Peter."

"You've earned it, Neal."


End file.
